


Sleepover

by ifinkufreaky



Series: Under the Coat [4]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 03:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18327602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: Sure, a hookup with Bobo sounds hot, but what happens when you wake up next to him in the middle of the night?





	Sleepover

Something strikes my shoulder, waking me from a sleep so deep that I can’t move for a moment. I’m not even sure where I am, but sheets are twisted around my bare legs, and the air is warm and humid.

A growl emanates from the bed behind me.

In a flash, it comes back to me – that smell of old wood and stale smoke is Bobo Del Rey’s trailer, and I’m caught up in the same sheets as the man himself.

I don’t have time to ponder the shitty decision tree that ended in a sleepover with the most feared revenant in the Ghost River Triangle, because he flails and hits me again, and I have to figure out what the fuck is going on at present.

I’ll admit, my first impulse is to hop out of the damn bed, but the sheets wrapped around my thighs pull tighter in that direction, and I have to turn to face him instead.

In the colorless moonlight streaming in from the high little window, I see beads of sweat on Bobo’s chest and forehead. His eyes are closed, the orbs flitting rapidly under his lids. Nightmare. He growls again, and then moans, plaintive as a lost child.

Shit.

“Bobo,” I whisper. It comes out pretty half-hearted. I’m staring at him, but I’m also trying to find the edge of the sheet with my hands so I can cover up my tits before he wakes up.

He moans again, a throaty, primal pleading, then thrashes his head. His eyelids stay sealed, but they smolder and darken. He’s going into revenant-face in his dreams.

Is it even safe for me to wake him up like this? He could be reliving any number of things that happened during his multiple stays in Hell, caught up in the cycles of the Earp curse.

Bobo makes that hopeless bleating sound again and my hand shoots out for his shoulder, giving it a firm shake.

“Bobo. You’re dreaming.” I try to make my voice sound soothing, but loud enough to wake him. I cringe as I shake him, hoping not to startle him too badly. “Bobo.”

“Who’s Bobo?” he mumbles, and then his pale eyes fly open. They scan the roof of the trailer for a half-second, then narrow in on my face. Before they can even finish focusing he rears up, grabbing my shoulders with both hands and shoving me down into the bed. “Who are you?”

I only squeak, cringing against the pillow and trying to appear as harmless as possible. If he can’t remember his own damn name, he certainly isn’t going to recognize mine.

His full weight is on me, pinning me to the bed, but his fingers loosen just a fraction and he exhales long across my cheek. I peek back up at him from under fearful brows.

He seems more lucid, staring down at me so close our noses could almost touch. As his wild eyes roam over my features, his face smooths out, maybe even going a little chagrined as he comes back to reality. He drops his forehead, a stray lock of his thoroughly-mussed hair falling between us. “You’re still here,” he says casually.

Is he about to pretend that nightmare didn’t happen? “I guess we both passed out,” I say. I glance down, where his fingers are still digging into my shoulder. “Used to waking up alone, I take it.”

He grunts, and rolls off me. He curls up on his side of the bed, and stares at me over the single pillow. “I’m not quite the sharing type.” His eyes look a little baleful. Like he meant that on more than one level.

“I get it,” I say, swallowing hard against the sudden ache in my chest. “Guess I should go. Now that we’re both awake.”

“Unless you’re up for another round, sugartits,” he smirks. But he makes no move to reach for me, and his skin is still pale as hell.

I give him a flat look. He certainly doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about it, but I can tell he’s still shaken by whatever dream he’s just suffered through. “Not really in the mood anymore.”

Bobo gives me a dismissive flap of his hand and rolls onto his back, rubbing his own forehead and staring at the ceiling. As he pointedly ignores me, he probably doesn’t realize that his face is slackening into an expression as lost as that noise that spurred me to wake him.

I finally figure out how to disentangle my legs from the sheets. Bobo doesn’t move a muscle as I turn my back to him, looking around on the floor for my clothes.

I get as far as my panties and shirt before I turn back to him. He’s got the top of the sheet balled up in his hands now, clutched to his chest. The picture of a boy afraid of what will happen if he falls back asleep.

“I could stay anyway.”

He doesn’t answer me right away. When he meets my eyes, the emotions are too complex for me to read. “Why.”

It’s hard not to be stung by the way the word whips between us. But it’s the right question. Bobo and I, we’re enemies. I should never have even let this night happen. And yet. Now it’s 2 a.m. and I’m staring at the man who touched me, stroked me, held me, in my most intimate places, who loved me up better than in my wildest imagination, and trusted me enough to fall asleep beside me. In my arms. Who now looks like he’s preparing to descend into Hell again. “No reason.” I sit down on the edge of the bed.

He huffs, and rolls away from me.

I don’t move.

“Do what you want.”

I think about my own nightmares, the way I get lost in memories of the things I’ve been through myself, here. And this is just Purgatory. I think about how hard it is to wake up from that alone. I take a long, steadying breath, and slide back in between the sheets.

Bobo’s shoulder looks immense, sticking up this close to my face. He huffs a deep breath, and for a moment thick scars appear, crisscrossing his back, the embers of revenant light glowing through. He exhales and they are gone.

I place my hand upon the breadth of his shoulder. Back and forth, I rub him softly, despite my fear that my skin will burn if those marks come back. Right now, all I want for us both is peace.

I feel him relax beneath my touch, muscle by muscle. Still he says nothing. Does he like this? Does he wish I would just stop, and let him sleep? When insecurity wins out over compassion, I pull my hand back into the empty space between us.

With a soft grunt, Bobo reaches around and returns my hand to his back.


End file.
